B-town's most unlikely box office starsMuch like the prayer flags that blow at the whim of the wind, the Bhutanese go about their Yin and Yang; nothing is ever enough. Got a government, lodge complaints. Got democracy, throw accusations“Someone making money?” Lambast the manYou got a training abroad?You must be a crook or a sycophantThe PM is trying to garner good PR for the country?” Must be for some secret-selfish end.The Opposition Leader is objecting?” Must be to enhance his political caree“You are in the civil service?” You must be corrupt.
“A Rinpoche is giving teachings?” Must be to hoodwink the straight devotees.
“You work in the media?” You must be concocting stories for some patron.
“Making a foray in politics?” Has to be the perks!
The list is expansive, and that is perhaps one reason why the sage always tells you to shut up, sit down and ‘breathe dog, just breathe’.
Much like the prayer flags that blow at the whim of the wind, the Bhutanese go about their Yin and Yang; nothing is ever enough
I’m a full-bloodied Bhutanese (as far as full bodies and red blood cells go). My father (RIP) hails from Paro, a western region known for red rice, secret-mystical hidden realms, and natives with more than a chip on their shoulders. In short, they are bold, blunt, and sure, oozing obvious machismo. My mother sprang from Bumthang, a central eastern highland, also known for its spiritual treasures and of late, anything to do with cheese, brewed beer, honey, fruitarian drinks and resorts and temples and festivals, (the midnight Naked Dance is something else).
No comments:
Post a Comment